Tormenting your kids with science

One of the stranger ways my parents (both historians) exposed me to science was the weird and wonderful Singing Science records. These albums from the '50s and '60s cover many facets of science--nature, physics, outer space, weather, etc.--and are pitched at perhaps 4- to 9-year olds.

Even if you're not in that age bracket, you might enjoy listening to the MP3s that are online, these records being long out of production. They're best appreciated if you have the goofy sense of humor that responds to rhyme schemes like:

There is no disputin',
There is no refutin',
We're all indebted
To Sir Isaac Newton.

or if you can match their enthusiasm for science and jaunty tunes:

What does the glass of a greenhouse do?
It doesn't let the long heat rays pass through
Trapped by the glass, they bounce back and forth,
Re-radiated and re-absorbed.

Why Does the Sun Shine? was covered, many decades later, by They Might Be Giants:

The sun is a mass of incandescent gas.
A gigantic nuclear furnace,
Where hydrogen is built into helium
At a temperature of millions of degrees.

I remember taking a science test in perhaps 7th grade and humming this tune to myself to sort out whether hydrogen turned to helium or vice versa.

Similarly, the word friction was firmly in my vocabulary--it's "the rub-a-dub-dub rub-a-dub/ Of objects that are moving/ And the rub-a-dub of contact is friction at work"--from a tender age.

The Jekyll grandparents owned these records, and as a result, during Jekyll family get-togethers, the entire clan sometimes bursts into "A shooting star is not a star, is not a star at all/ A shooting star's a meteor that's headed for a fall." Really, it's an odd family.

Of course, the philosophers of science among you won't be pleased to hear, "A scientific fact/ It has to be correct/ It has to be exact," but your children are unlikely to mind.

Anyhow, the Space songs are the best, in part because of the excited speculation about whether we'll ever go to the moon. Go give them a listen.

InaDWriMo

Nat reminded me that if it's November, Dr Brazen Hussy is hosting the InaDWriMo writing challenge. This is literally the only good thing that happens in Novembers.

I had not been planning to get going on this manuscript until December when experiments will be "done," but InaDWriMo is motivating me to get cracking earlier. With some diligent laptop efforts on my daily bus commute, I've already cranked out a lot of the results section. Yeah!

It may not be pretty, but getting a draft on paper is always the first step...

How does your lab grow?

What's your lab's composition? In the recent issue of Neuron, Nobel laureate David Hubel argues that the shape of a lab has changed radically, and for the worse. In today's labs, he writes,

Leading each group is a senior scientist, a full professor, or an assistant professor who can expect to be promoted to tenure in a few years. Under the leader come post-doctoral fellows, graduate students, and a few research assistants. This form of organization is in sharp contrast with what prevailed a generation ago, when a group consisted usually of one person, or two or three, and there was less distinction, if there was any, between group members.

He goes on to say that as a result of today's division of labor, the PI's time is taken up with grants, committee work, teaching, refereeing, and lab management--rarely experiments. In contrast, when Hubel started working at Harvard,

Everyone in the group worked alone or with one other postdoc, on projects they thought up themselves and carried through independently.

Thus everyone was responsible for his own experiments, analysis, and writing, and would use other group members as critical sounding boards.

Hubel argues that the old way was preferable because:
a) Postdocs learned much more independence, as they had to think through projects and data themselves rather than being directed.

b) One thinks best about science when one does one's own experiments, as opposed to dividing the bench and grant chores between two people.

c) Scientists, who are selected for their skills at benchwork, get to continue doing benchwork.

He doesn't point out the corollary to (c), that because good scientists may be bad managers, this system avoids placing such people in positions of power over scads of postdocs. But to me this is a critical point. Numerous blog posts from multiple bloggers detail their frustrations with poor management, whether it comes in the form of the PI overseeing antibody supplies or being unhelpful with projects and manuscripts.

This is partly a rehash of an old argument: should PIs keep doing experiments? The axis of opinion ranges from PhysioProf's point that PIs are good at thinking big picture, so it's best for them not to waste time on experiments, to Ms. PhD's argument that those who can't do, shouldn't teach (= run a lab). (I do think that PIs who continue with experiments generally have a good grip on their labs, while those who don't have more heterogeneous track records.)

Still, the crux of Hubel's argument, and one that I find interesting, is that scientists should be given greater responsibility for their own research earlier on, as postdocs rather than as assstant professors. Too many postdocs must follow their PI's project "suggestions" and don't have an opportunity to design a project from scratch. This produces a lot of disgruntled postdocs and Mini-Me PIs.

Some institutions, like the Max Planck, do offer junior scientists independent research positions leading only one or two other people. My advisor held this type of position and says it was scientifically the best thing he ever did. But very few such jobs are available today.

Of course the current arrangement is probably higher throughput, because savvy PIs can lead squads of unimaginative postdocs through an exciting research program. And there are doubtless many people who prefer the current design, not least because it facilitates interdisciplinary work. But I agree with Hubel that more independent small research programs populated by relative youngsters (in their 30s!) who would otherwise be postdocs would be a welcome alternative.

I wish that more institutions offered Max Planck-style fellowships. For many, perhaps most, people, these jobs would serve as springboards to more traditional faculty positions, while fostering independence and creativity, and eliminating the "pedigree" aspect of the current postdoc system.

And perhaps a few scientists would discover along the way that they preferred it.

Halloscene

Dr. Jekyll: Oh, you guys are Jedi knights, that's cool.

Jedi knights: Look at our light sabers!

Dr. Jekyll: Have some candy.

Younger Jedi knight (fumbling with light saber, loot bag, and candy, then tripping on his robe): This is really hard.

Dr. Jekyll (sympathetically): Yeah, being a Jedi is hard work.

Younger Jedi knight (pointedly): How would you know?

My Hallowe'ens were better/worse than yours

Why they were better

Some people say that children growing up in big cities miss out on important aspects of childhood. I say, those people have never thought about Hallowe'en. Hallowe'en is vastly improved by urban high-density living.

I grew up in an apartment complex of two buildings, each over 20 stories. In the week leading up to Hallowe'en, a sheet of paper would be posted in each elevator so that residents participating in Hallowe'en could list their apartment number. On the fateful night, we would copy down the list of active apartments. Then it was simply a matter of taking the elevator to the top floor, starting with 21B, C, and F, or whatever it might be, and taking the stairs down to 20.

This is the most highly efficient form of candy-gathering known to child. You worked the building like a typewriter, across one floor and then down a row to the next. You didn't need to waste time on decoding Hallowe'en-participation symbols like carved pumpkins, because you had the list in front of you. (Added benefit for residents, those not wishing to serve treats didn't have to hide in the back rooms with the lights off.)

And best of all, because you never went outside, your parents stopped feeling the need to supervise you after you turned, say, 8. Not to mention you avoided the perils of subjecting your costume to the weather. It was independent candy-gathering paradise.


Why they were worse

My parents, bless their thrifty, wholesome, Puritan souls, didn't believe in giving out Kit Kats like the rest of the world. They were the hated household that handed out boxes of raisins for Pete's sake (Dr Hyde, incredulous: "And nobody ever egged your apartment?"). On a few occasions, my mother made giant batches of chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin cookies instead, and we tied them up in little plastic baggies for dispensation, so those were the good years.

Even worse, they liked to give out noisemakers. Ah, but not plastic dime-store noisemakers. My parents had determined that a great fun toy for young children was...wait for it...bubble wrap. They would save up the bubble wrap that came in packages throughout the year, and then actually cut it into somewhat smaller squares so as not to run out on Halloween. "You can pop the bubbles, like this! POP!" my mother explained brightly to each dubious child.

The parents who accompanied younger kids quickly masked their astonishment with praise for the "creativity" of this idea. (And in my parents' defense, the 4-7 year old set usually did get a kick out of the stuff, either popping the bubbles one by one, or, for the adventurous souls, laying the sheet down on the ground and jumping on it for maximum effect.)

The older children were generally less successful at disguising their contempt. (Dr Hyde: "You didn't at least get toilet papered?" Me: "Hard to mess with someone's place when they're on the 18th floor.") When I was younger, of course I thought that bubble wrap was a pretty decent hand-out, but as I grew up I began to see Hallowe'en as vaguely shameful, particularly when I had to help my parents cut the bubble wrap into pieces. Anyhow, for those of you who know me, it probably helps to understand my psychology, that my parents thought that raisins and bubble wrap were treats on the most candy-filled holiday of the year.

Dr Hyde and I hand out Kit Kats.

Having a child made me pro-choice

Ok, that's an overstatement--I was pro-choice to begin with. But before having a baby, I was pro-choice in a somewhat abstract way. "Women's medical decisions are private! No one should be forced to bear a child!" etc etc.

Now that I have one? I would personally help out, with money or time or support, any woman I knew who needed help procuring an abortion. I would go so far as to say that I am baffled that any woman with kids could feel otherwise.

Everyone assures me that the newborn phase passes and things get better. That is cold comfort when one's child chooses not to sleep for seven hours straight. And demands constant rocking, jiggling, nursing, bouncing, repeat ad nauseam (mine) for the duration. Small is a lovely baby, and fun to play with when he's happy, but staying home alone with him all day is intermittently dreadful. On days when he refuses to sleep, I would be willing to hand him off to a passing stranger. Once a week or so he screams his head off for a few minutes while I sit in another room, unresponsive, because I simply cannot stand to deal with him for another moment.

And lest we forget, I really, really, really wanted this baby.

The point here is not that I am dealing with new motherhood and continuing vicious sleep deprivation, although that is also true. The point is, some days are difficult enough even knowing that this is a dearly desired baby, a baby we went through many medical procedures to achieve, a baby I am (generally) happy to have.

If I had not wanted this baby? The neglect would have started early and often. If I didn't have the vast amount of support that I do in fact have, things would be even worse. Who thinks it's a good idea to encourage this?

And don't tell me that adoption is the solution unless you yourself have adopted a few children.

So there you have it. I've always been pro-choice, but having a child has radicalized me. This is a hard enough path even when it's been chosen. I could never tell a woman to go through it unwillingly, nor could I live with putting a baby in a situation where it wasn't wanted. I really don't understand how any woman with children could feel otherwise.

------

Dr Hyde points out that posts like this will send Small into therapy, when he's old enough. "Your mother said that having you made her support abortion!" To which I say, therapy is healthy.

For the love of God, do not litter up the comments with suggestions on how to get babies to sleep. Your white noise, your swaddling, your slings, whatever, sometimes (as today) nothing works, it is miserable for everyone involved, and don't presume to tell me otherwise. And in any case, that is not what this post is about.

First day back

There is nothing like a six-week hiatus spent entirely catering to the whims of a small but angry dictator to make you appreciate your job.

I know that many women (and some men) discover that they prefer staying home after having a baby, but I can assure you all that I am not one of those people. It was fabulous to go to work, where nobody screamed at me or pooped on me, and I could go to the bathroom whenever I pleased.

Also, I had the chance to think about my hot science and run some meta-analysis of data collected Before Small. Even though the meta-analysis was tedious and ultimately didn't tell me anything of note, it was heaven.

As a bonus, I was excited to see Small in the evening, rather than wanting to dump him in Dr Hyde's arms as I do when he's been at work all day.

It's clear that pumping milk, which was easy to schedule into an analysis day, will become a big hassle on experiment days, but we'll cross that mammary-supplied river when we come to it. Right now I'm just happy to have a semblance of my normal thinking life back.

Vanishing act

Some basic etiquette when a colleague goes on maternity leave: She is not dead.

If, for example, lab renovations are going to cause her lab space to be completely torn up and covered in plastic sheeting for two weeks, she would probably prefer to learn this news via email, rather than discovering it for herself when she manages to leave the baby in someone else's care so that she can go into work for a few hours.

That is all.

It sounds so obvious when you put it that way

It is really, really hard to read grants when someone is sucking on your nipples.

How our conversations have changed

Dr Jekyll: I never thought that a person who weighs 8 pounds could fart as loudly as a person who weighs 140.

Dr Hyde: It's really amazing, isn't it?

Dr Jekyll: I feel kind of intimidated by it.

Dr Hyde: I've dealt with newborns before but I don't ever remember one that could fart this loudly, or this long.

Dr Jekyll: Yeah, usually babies are impressive at burping, but it's hard to get a good burp out of Small.

Dr Hyde: Our baby saves it up for the other end. We should video it and put it on YouTube. "Amazing Farting Baby."

Dr Jekyll: Yeah, it'll go viral.

Dr Hyde: The Asians will make T-shirts with his face on it.

Dr Jekyll: We'll make our first million!

Dr Hyde: And then there's the ringtones.

Creative technology usage

There have been some strange rustling noises underneath the house. Last year when this happened, it was due to a resident stinky skunk. After waiting one evening past midnight for the skunk to exit, Dr Hyde had carefully blocked up all the entrances to the crawl space with loose bricks, so we were surprised that anything could have gotten back in. But sure enough, some of the bricks in one location were displaced.

Dr H wanted to brick up this entrance again, but I pointed out that if there was another skunk under the house, and it was trapped and died, I would be wrathful in the extreme. How to make sure the beast was gone?

Dr Hyde's solution: he took the baby sound/video monitor, which we usually use to make sure the cat has not smothered the baby, and planted the camera portion outside over the crawl space entrance, running the power cord in through a window. Then he stayed up late with a fussy Small, watching the video monitor.

A little after midnight, an animal exited--a sleek possum. Dr H waited to make sure there were no more possums, then re-bricked up the crawl space.

Today, the camera is still outside, and I am relying on ESP to make sure the cat hasn't leapt into the bassinet.

Some observations

1) When you hear about toothless older folks having to gum their food, you may be left with the impression that this is sad because gums are soft and lack chomping power. This is so very not true.

2) In the first couple of weeks, Small just stared at my armpit while breastfeeding. Now that he is a bit more aware of his world, he often looks sideways up at my face. As only one eye is visible in this position, he bears more than a passing resemblance to a large whale underneath one's boat, gazing upwards at the humans crowding the rail.

3) Wow, do I owe my mother.

Well that was an interesting experience

Small Hyde enters the world.

All well and healthy. More later.

How Americans distrust science

This week's Times Week in Review section sports a lead article by an ex-physicist, James Glanz, whose thesis is that the failure of the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva is reminiscent of the giant abandoned pyramids of the Mayans: a symbol of our hubris in trying to understand too much.

Glanz doesn't use the word "hubris," with all the Greek mythological implications it entails, but substitutes the "your business model was bad" term "overreach." Nonetheless, his point is clear: we were trying to probe too far into the limits of the cosmos, and so naturally we were doomed for failure.

Well excuuuuuuse us for trying.

Glanz doesn't seem to have a problem with the experimental question itself: whether the Higgs boson (a) exists, and (b) underlies the concept of mass. (I'm no physicist, but I think finding out whether a particle is responsible for one of the most salient characteristics of our physical world is yeah, pretty important.) Instead his beef is that the electrical and magnetic problems with the LHC are a sign of our unwonted temerity in probing such questions.

I call serious bullshit. As the saying goes: If I knew what I were doing, it wouldn't be called an experiment. Yes, it's a vicious disappointment that there's no data out of the LHC yet, leaving hundreds of physics grad students with theory-only theses.

But if an experiment beset with unexpected problems is a sign that we are overreaching, then I guess I'm pretty much all washed up as a scientist, because most of my experiments are overrun with unexpected problems. I call myself a scientist because these problems don't make me don't throw up my hands and head for the bar (ok, sometimes) but instead cause me to find solutions, to troubleshoot, to analyze whether the problems are inherent to the experimental question or simply to the method in use.

Glanz's article reflects (embarrassingly, for an ex-scientist) the basic fear with which many Americans view science. If it doesn't work out right the first time, it's because we wanted too much! We tried to learn Something We Shouldn't Have. We angered the gods.

Just last night Dr Hyde and I were talking about our collective failure to teach the right lessons about science in school--that science is not so much a collection of facts as a form of rigorous critical thinking. I think Glanz's article is an extension of that problem: he equates a failure to obtain facts on schedule with a failure of science.

If more Americans understood that this idea was perniciously wrong, we might not be in the era of creationism - global warming denalism - disrespect for reality that we are. Thanks for helping, "Dr" Glanz.

Texting while driving

Normally when I am doing experiments, they only occupy about three-fourths of my brain. The remaining brain is answering email, thinking about other experiments, thinking about dinner, humming a little tune, whatever.

So you would think that I could perfectly well carry on a conversation and answer a few questions about what I'm doing while I do experiments. But no. With people watching, I forget which way caps twist to tighten. I forget to press important buttons. I drop things, like my experimental prep.

Today two people were watching me prep and (try to) carry out experiments, and it was borderline disastrous. (Some of this had to do with bad luck for the day, but then again why is it always on the days that my prep is a total failure that people are watching? They never seem to come by when I am my usual genius whiz self.)

And it got me to thinking, why is it so damn hard to do experiments when people watch? I have four explanations:

1) Observers make you self-conscious, leading to obvious problems with routine tasks of coordination that proceed most effectively without conscious control.

2) The cortical load imposed by answering even very easy questions about your experiments is far higher than one realizes.

3) A more hypothetical possibility: that there is a non-trivial burden placed on your brain simply by being in a social situation--i.e. with observers--so that even if those observers are silent, a surprising portion of your brain is being used to monitor them.

4) Though I routinely can spare a quarter of my brain for email etc., there are brief periods (as short as 5-10 s) during which I use all of it to focus on the experiment at hand, and any social burden is problematic.

Of course these are not mutually exclusive, though I would love to know whether anyone has ever studied the possible existence of effect #3.

The whole situation reminds me of the recent brouhaha over texting while driving (ed: who the hell was surprised that texting is bad for driving?!) and the attendant reminders that the "hands-free" policy espoused by many states is essentially useless, because it turns out that the mental load of carrying your end of the conversation, rather than the physical act of holding the phone, is the problem.

I wish the Senate would pass a law preventing me from having to train up other people on my experiments when I am very pressured for time by the impending bomb in my belly, and also all the rest of the time too because let's face it, that shit's annoying. If I get a petition going, you people will be the first to know.